


this is the part where you leave

by crownsandbirds



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Crying, Declarations Of Love, Depression, Dissociation, Kissing, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: Ryoji visits Minato on December 31st.
Relationships: Arisato Minato/Mochizuki Ryoji, Mochizuki Ryoji/Persona 3 Protagonist, Mochizuki Ryoji/Yuuki Makoto
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	this is the part where you leave

Minato doesn’t want to get out of bed. 

It's late. Somewhere liminal in the midst of dark hour, the dead of night, shadows thick and tangible, dripping between his fingers like water, or blood. He could capture the air between his teeth if he wanted to, press it against the roof of his mouth until it made him feel something. The strange carpet of the dorms, and the dirty glass in the mall, and the torn fliers floating in the tracks in the train station. It's dizzying and nauseating. Disgust and nostalgia, messy and jagged in the edges. If he traces the tip of this last year with the tip of his finger, dust will come out. The greasy taste of fries, the static in his old earphones, Yukari's pink lip gloss, Akihiko's clean smell of sweat, the glint of Junpei's fake silver necklace. He has been listening to the same songs ever since he arrived. Everything is more real in Iwatodai, which means everything is more painful, which means everything makes him want to die. And yet, he's so scared of dying.

He shouldn't be. He is. He's scared. He's terrified. Of dying, of forgetting, of never finding any meaning to anything. He has been looking at the wall in front of him for longer than he recalls. He keeps replaying the same two songs. People want to talk to him, but there's nothing he wants to say to any of them. He's lost the ability to speak. 

"Good evening," Ryoji says, and Minato doesn't move. He doesn't turn to the sound of his voice. He can imagine; the shut window, the uncanny glow of the moon, Ryoji's beautiful hand on his chest as if he's making an offering of his heart. 

_ You'll go away _ , Minato wants to say, wants to scream until his throat goes hoarse, until blood is trickling from his lips and pooling on the floor, and doesn't. 

"I missed you." Ryoji moves closer, and sits on the bed. He sounds - soft. Sad. His body is cold. It has always been cold. Minato remembers this room, and these two boys, and Ryoji saying,  _ please touch me _ ,  _ please make me feel human _ . He remembers touching him and kissing him, laying him down atop the sheets, undoing the buttons of his shirt and unwinding his scarf, and it smelled of fresh nighttime and fog and starlight. He remembers that he pressed his lips, and then his teeth, on the fragile skin under Ryoji's jaw, and Ryoji sang like a wounded bird. He remembers the painful drag of nails on his shoulders, and whimpers breathed close to his ear and,  _ more, Minato, my love, my dearest, oh, god _ . Tears falling on the dip of his collarbone, and Ryoji arching up against him, Minato gritting his own teeth, and making sounds he didn't know he could make. The unbearable heat up his spine. Pleasure feeling almost painful, almost infuriating. He hadn't felt emotions so strongly in years, in his entire life. He traced the riverbed of Ryoji's waist and the rises and falls of his ribcage with his palm, and pressed his forehead to his chest and allowed Ryoji to caress his hair as he tried to remember what it felt like to live outside of this dimension where everything was the two of them and this desperate urgency. 

They remain silent. They are both fully dressed, and apart, and they aren't touching at all, and in his mind Minato is thinking of their hands entwined amongst blankets as he drove inside Ryoji, as he watched blue eyes shimmer like the ocean reflecting sunlight in pools of liquid crystal, as Ryoji cried out,  _ my god,  _ and Minato kissed him and snarled,  _ say my name _ , because he was jealous, so achingly jealous, because he wanted this boy for himself, he wanted to trap him in a golden cage and make him sing for him alone. He hated him for his smooth words to others, hated all the people that had ever looked at him, that had ever conceived his existence in their minds even if for a brief moment.  _ Mine _ , he said,  _ mine, mine _ , and Ryoji breathed,  _ yours _ , and Minato thought,  _ we could die like this, and I would be happy.  _

Ryoji inhales, and doesn't let the air out, as if he’s trapping in his lungs the words he will not say. Minato is reminded he is not human. He can't remember if he ever felt Ryoji's heartbeat. How misguided. The night before, weeks before, months ago, he doesn't know, all the days have been the same, all the mornings have felt like murder and all the nights have felt like death, it might have been yesterday, it might have been lifetimes ago, he touched his lips to the mark just under Ryoji's dangerous blue eye like he’d been desperate to do for weeks, and said, "It's like a teardrop," and Ryoji laughed, and said, "You keep breaking my heart, that's why," and Minato said, "But I love you," and Ryoji said, "Love is so sad, my darling."

Would he have fucked Pharos, he wonders. It seems like such a crass, awful question, but he asks himself regardless. Knowing what he does now, what he cannot forget, what he wills his mind to freeze into snow crystals that will never melt. Would Pharos lay on  _ his _ bed the same way Ryoji did, would he spread his legs in the same tantalizing drag of movement, would he beckon Minato with his arms open and his throat bared. Would he cry, would he smile. What a waste of time it was, Minato thinks. We could have had sex so many times we would forget the boundaries of our bodies, we would have torn each other apart, we would have trapped ourselves in this room for days. Not everything is about sex, but sex is about power, and power is about death, because everything ties back to death. Small murders, smaller mercies. He wishes he'd never met Ryoji. He wishes he'd never signed that contract. He wishes he'd fucked Ryoji harder, until they bled on top of his white mattress, until something meant anything at all. 

"I don't want to -" Ryoji starts. 

"- hurt you, huh?" Minato completes. 

Ryoji laughs. He laughs beautifully, like wind chimes, and often. He laughs more than he cries. Minato does neither. The first time he slid inside Ryoji, Ryoji closed his eyes and smiled as if he'd never been happier in his life. 

_ This is the part where you leave, _ Minato thinks, and this is what enrages him most of all. That Ryoji would have the audacity to leave. That he would come into his life in a breeze of stars and constellations, and tug on the strings of his heart, and run away. Dying is one thing, but being abandoned is insanity-inducing. 

“You should kill me,” he says, voice airy, and twists his hands on top of his lap. It’s such a boyish gesture. Minato wants to kiss him. He doesn’t. Ryoji presses on. “Kill me, and forget everything. It’ll hurt less like that.”

Minato pushes himself slightly from the position he hasn’t moved out of for hours. It takes more effort than he’d predicted. His arm trembles as he shoves his body to the side - his strength is just enough for him to lay his head on Ryoji’s lap. He lets out a sigh as he makes himself comfortable again. It’s a strain on his neck as he looks up, but Ryoji is looking at him as if he’s never seen anything quite like him before. 

“I’ve loved you in all timelines, in all of eternity," he says, and he sounds so sad, so  _ sad _ , threading his fingers through Minato's hair. His knuckles brush Minato's forehead - his skin is cold. "I’ve loved you in death and rebirth. You're everything that has always been precious to me."

Minato's lip is trembling. He hasn't cried in years. He hasn't cried in a decade. He feels small. "I won't kill you, Ryoji."

Ryoji shakes his head. "That is not my name, albeit I liked it."

"I won't kill you, Ryoji."  _ Don't leave me.  _

"My dear -"

"Mochizuki Ryoji," Minato grits out. 

They look at each other for a moment. Minato wants to kiss him so bad it hurts him, someplace essential and fragile, tied directly to his heart. "I want to fuck you," is what he says, which is not what he meant to say, not what he  _ should _ say. 

It's a silent matter. There's a heartbeat of nothing, only words weighing on the thick night air - and then Ryoji exhales, and takes his hands out of Minato's hair, and lifts shaking fingers to his yellow scarf. He unwinds it slowly, and it feels infinite, feels like it lasts forever. He moves to lay down on the bed next to Minato, and Minato closes his eyes, and shifts to cage him against the mattress with his arms on either side of his head, and kisses him like a declaration, as if he can keep him trapped like this, as if things can go back to the way they were before, when neither of them were happy, but at least they were together. It's so childish, to bargain like this.  _ If I can make him come, we won't have to die. If I can make him scream my name, things will be okay. If I can have him sleep with me, we'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be okay.  _

Minato hasn't touched his boyfriend in a month. 

Ryoji reacts to every small touch as if he wants Minato to ruin him. 

It's hard to draw blood with only the dull pressure of teeth against skin, and Minato doesn't quite manage, but the bruise he leaves on Ryoji's neck is near brutal, a strange, blooming red. He scratches Ryoji's waist, grips his hips, claws at his thighs, and Ryoji is so beautiful, he's the most beautiful person Minato has ever seen, and when he fucks him, he throws his head back and stares hazily at the ceiling and lets Minato press kisses to the beauty mark under his eye as he moans like a songbird. 

"In my room," Minato says, or thinks, or - something, "In my room, you're no god. Here, you're mine. And you're not leaving."

Ryoji breathes, "Anything you say, my love," and Minato thrusts inside him again, and neither of them says anything more. 

The tears only come after his orgasm has seeped out of his body. 

"Don't cry," Ryoji pleads softly, caressing his face. "Please don't cry."

Minato shakes his head. "If I forget you, nothing will make sense. I won't kill you."

"You must."

"I won't."

"I'm so sorry."

"I'll never forgive you," Minato says, and Ryoji holds him tighter, and they're both crying. 

Minato realizes he can't feel Ryoji's heartbeat. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> after i realized i'm asexual, the workings of sex as a power dynamic and as something that is often on allo people's minds have become more of a creative interest in me. i cannot relate, but i do like analyzing.


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